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Blue Moon :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 44 из 327I'll go make sure your boyfriend is ready to see you."
"He's not my boyfriend," I said. It was becoming automatic, like an involuntary reflex.
Maiden smiled and unlocked the door at the far end. He vanished through it. "You and Officer Maiden seem to have hit it off, Ms. Blake."
"Cops dish out a lot of shit. Trick is, don't take it personally, and dish back."
"I'll remember that next time."
I looked up Belisarius. "It might not work for you. You're a lawyer, and you're wealthy."
"And I'm not an attractive woman," he said.
"That, too, though that can work against me with policemen."
Belisarius nodded.
Maiden stepped back through the far door. He was smiling like something had amused the hell out of him. I was betting I wasn't going to think it was funny. "I told Zeeman that for a fucking pervert, he had a cute girlfriend."
"I'll bet that's not what you said," I said.
He nodded. "I asked him why, with a nice piece of ass like you for his girlfriend, he had to go out and rape somebody."
"What'd he say?" I asked, face as blank as I could make it.
"He said you're not his girlfriend."
I nodded. "See, I told you so."
Maiden opened the door wide and motioned us through. "Ring the buzzer when you want out." We stepped through, and he said, "Enjoy," as he locked us in.
They must have gotten a deal on white paint because the entire room was white, even the floor. It was like standing in the middle of a blizzard. Two bunks, one on top the other, the bars on a small window, even the toilet and sink were white. The only color was the bars that formed a three-sided cage. Richard sat on the other side of the bars looking at us.
He was sitting on the lower bunk. His hair fell in thick waves, nearly hiding his face. In the stark whiteness of the overhead lights, the hair looked darker than its normal honey brown, almost chestnut. He was wearing a pale green dress shirt untucked, sleeves rolled back over muscular forearms. His dark brown dress slacks were wrinkled from being slept in. He unfolded his six-foot-one-inch body from the bunk. The dress shirt stretched tightly across his shoulders and upper arms. He'd bulked up a little since last I'd seen him, and he'd been pretty muscular to begin with. Once upon a time, it would have been my great pleasure to have peeled that shirt off and seen what was underneath, to have run my hands over that lovely chest and those strong arms. But that was then, and this was a whole new ball game, one that I really couldn't win.
Richard came to stand at the bars, hands wrapping around them.
"He's not my boyfriend," I said. It was becoming automatic, like an involuntary reflex.
Maiden smiled and unlocked the door at the far end. He vanished through it. "You and Officer Maiden seem to have hit it off, Ms. Blake."
"Cops dish out a lot of shit. Trick is, don't take it personally, and dish back."
"I'll remember that next time."
I looked up Belisarius. "It might not work for you. You're a lawyer, and you're wealthy."
"And I'm not an attractive woman," he said.
"That, too, though that can work against me with policemen."
Belisarius nodded.
Maiden stepped back through the far door. He was smiling like something had amused the hell out of him. I was betting I wasn't going to think it was funny. "I told Zeeman that for a fucking pervert, he had a cute girlfriend."
"I'll bet that's not what you said," I said.
He nodded. "I asked him why, with a nice piece of ass like you for his girlfriend, he had to go out and rape somebody."
"What'd he say?" I asked, face as blank as I could make it.
"He said you're not his girlfriend."
I nodded. "See, I told you so."
Maiden opened the door wide and motioned us through. "Ring the buzzer when you want out." We stepped through, and he said, "Enjoy," as he locked us in.
They must have gotten a deal on white paint because the entire room was white, even the floor. It was like standing in the middle of a blizzard. Two bunks, one on top the other, the bars on a small window, even the toilet and sink were white. The only color was the bars that formed a three-sided cage. Richard sat on the other side of the bars looking at us.
He was sitting on the lower bunk. His hair fell in thick waves, nearly hiding his face. In the stark whiteness of the overhead lights, the hair looked darker than its normal honey brown, almost chestnut. He was wearing a pale green dress shirt untucked, sleeves rolled back over muscular forearms. His dark brown dress slacks were wrinkled from being slept in. He unfolded his six-foot-one-inch body from the bunk. The dress shirt stretched tightly across his shoulders and upper arms. He'd bulked up a little since last I'd seen him, and he'd been pretty muscular to begin with. Once upon a time, it would have been my great pleasure to have peeled that shirt off and seen what was underneath, to have run my hands over that lovely chest and those strong arms. But that was then, and this was a whole new ball game, one that I really couldn't win.
Richard came to stand at the bars, hands wrapping around them.